


A Preposterous Proposal

by greerwatson



Series: Christmas at the Clubhouse [3]
Category: RENAULT Mary - Works
Genre: Christmas, Gen, ITOWverse, Metafiction
Language: English
Status: Completed
Published: 2009-12-23
Updated: 2009-12-23
Packaged: 2018-05-21 06:11:01
Rating: General Audiences
Warnings: No Archive Warnings Apply
Chapters: 1
Words: 776
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/6041143
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/greerwatson/pseuds/greerwatson
Summary: <blockquote class="userstuff">
              <p>Aunt Olive returns to the vicarage with a marvellous idea.</p>
            </blockquote>





	A Preposterous Proposal

**Author's Note:**

> This story was posted originally to the [maryrenaultfics](http://maryrenaultfics.livejournal.com) LiveJournal community as a gift to the members for Christmas in 2009.

Olive returned to the vicarage all bubbly with the Secretary’s marvellous notion.  Lucy, when she told her, was rather less sanguine.  She had hoped that her cousin would return with some eggs and butter—though the tin of biscuits was, of course, welcome. 

“But don’t you see,” said Olive earnestly.  “If we hold Christmas _there_ , then Laurie will be able to come.” 

This had not occurred to Lucy.  She had simply thought it presumptuous of the Secretary to propose—especially to someone as suggestible as poor Olive—that the two of them arrange ‘seasonal celebrations’ at the community house.  However, now that Lucy thought of it, of course it would be true:  Laurie could get to there as easily from London as anywhere, for it would take him no more time than an instant’s focused thought; and, no matter how long he chose to remain at the celebrations, he would return at the very moment he had left.  His lack of leave would therefore be irrelevant; and Lucy _would_ be able to see him, after all. 

Her husband got in rather late that evening, having been called to the bedside of old Mrs Henderly, who was dying again.  “Any comfort I can give,” he said repressively, when Lucy complained.  “It is my duty.  The doctor says it is only a matter of time, albeit not _this_ time.”  He opined that the old lady might summon the strength to see another Christmas, but would certainly not see spring.  This gave Lucy her opening. 

“Christmas with that Community!” he said, startled.  “Pre­post­erous!  I can’t leave the village at _this_ time of year!  We’ve the carol singing on Christ­mas Eve, and all the services on the Day—” 

“No, no,” said Lucy impatiently.  “Don’t you understand?  We’ll be gone only an instant.  We can go _between_ services.  No one will miss anything.” 

Her husband rather thought that she was underestimating the exhaustion that the full season of celebration brought a man in his profession.  Nevertheless, he also knew all too well how much she regretted the absence of her son.  “Perhaps I can stay for a _short_ while,” he agreed, “but the preparations, I fear, must fall to you and Olive.  I do not see how I can spare the time to assist—not with all that there is to do in the parish.  Why, I still have to write my Christmas sermon.” 

As he ate the dinner that she had kept warm for him, something else occurred to him.  He, after all, had the benefit of a Classical education, unlike his wife and her cousin.  As Lucy made them all bedtime cocoa, he brought the matter up. 

“For whom, precisely, are these celebrations?” he asked.  “Surely, the Community is not offering the amenities of its clubhouse solely so that Laurie can come, as it were, home (if not precisely _home_ ) to enjoy a family Christmas?” 

“Why everyone!” said Lucy, surprised.  “At least, that is the impression I got from Olive.” 

At that moment, her cousin came in with the tray; and Gareth put the question to Olive herself.  “Oh, yes, everyone,” she agreed.  “That is, any of the community members who wish to come—which I dare say will be most, since all the characters will be there, of course, and you know how much they like to meet us in person.” 

“Ye-e-es,” said Straike thoughtfully.  “Yes, indeed.   _All_ the characters, do you say?  Are you sure?” 

“Well, that nice Secretary spoke to Bagoas.  You remember him, don’t you?  That rather beautiful young man with the gorgeous clothes like a ballet dancer?”  Straike did, most certainly.  “And he said that he was sure that everyone from _his_ book would want to be there; and, if they come, then I dare say the people from the other historical novels will also come; and I’m _sure_ that the people from the pre-war novels will be there:  after all, most of them don’t seem to have much in the way of families, and they’ll love the chance to have a proper Christmas.” 

“Ah,” said Straike.  He attended to his cocoa, marking that, for the first time in weeks, it came accompanied by a choice of two different types of biscuit, one of which he hadn’t seen for over a year.  He suspected he knew where it came from. 

“I take your point about the Moderns,” he said to Olive, “but I am less certain about the Ancients.  I don’t wish us to cause offence.  You do realize that they have never celebrated Christmas in their lives?” 

“They must have,” said Lucy, with simple certainty.  “Everyone in England has Christmas.”


End file.
